


Bogey

by littleskyangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Bogey is a dog, Dog - Freeform, Hunt, Spirit - Freeform, but if even that bothers you then I'll tag it anyways, but not really, ghost - Freeform, it gets a little sad and I'm sorry, just a little bit?, vengeful spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3833071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleskyangel/pseuds/littleskyangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean find a dog on a hunt. The take it in and happiness happens and then it doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bogey

It started out like any other case; a simple hunt, gank, and then wrap up. However, this time was different. The spirit they were hunting ended up haunting an old abandoned mansion. However, the spirit was not the only thing they found inside the mansion.

“We can’t just leave it, Dean,” said Sam.

“Um, yeah, I think we can,” retorted Dean sharply, gesturing to the Golden Retriever lying on the floor. The boys had been chasing the spirit around the mansion, only to trip over to poor thing scrambling to get away from the gunfire. Sam had stepped on its leg, and the dog cried out in pain, startling everyone, including the spirit. Dean had taken that opportunity to shoot the spirit with rock salt, just enough to slow it down so that they could get out and they could salt and burn the bones that they had dug up. After that, they started the trek back to the Impala, only for Sam to be distracted by the limping pup.  
The dog started whining, sounding more and more pitiful with each breath. Sam kneeled down and started scratching the dog, whispering reassurance to it. He looked up at Dean with those puppy dog eyes.

“Sam…” Dean warned.

“Just until it’s better?” pleaded Sam.

“Better? What, is it hurt or something?” asked Dean, confused. Sure, he had heard the dog yelp a few times while they were running around, but he didn’t think anything had actually happened to it. Sam started to examine the dog.

“It has a couple of cuts around the muzzle and one deep one on its belly that’s bleeding. I think you might have gotten it with the rock salt also. Also, I, uh, I stepped on its paw.” The dog let out another breathy whine. Sam begged Dean once more. “Please, Dean?”  
Dean rubbed the back of his neck, biding his time until he finally reached a decision. He looked Sam in the eye. “Until it’s healed. As soon as it’s better we’re dumping it at some shelter or something.”

Sam let out a breath and resumed rubbing the dog behind its ears. He looked up at Dean again. “A no-kill shelter?” he asked, fully aware just how much he was pushing his luck.

Dean spun on his heel and stormed away. “Yeah, sure, whatever! Just so we’re clear, it’s yours, I don’t want anything to do with it!” he called over his shoulder. Sam smiled, then turned to pick up the dog. It whined and barked in protest, but he soon had it wrapped up in his jacket snug and secure. He heard a faint honking sound. “Let’s go, Sam! I’m tired and I need a shower!” he heard Dean call out impatiently. Sam scooped up the dog and hurried towards the Impala. He opened up the door to the back seat and gently set the dog down in the middle, then climbed in afterwards. Dean turned around in the drivers seat, confused.

“You don’t wanna ride shotgun?” he asked.

“Aaahh, no. It’s scared, and I wanna make sure it’s okay,” Sam replied. Dean scoffed, but started the engine anyways. Soon they were back at the motel. Dean immediately called the shower while Sam tended to the dog’s wounds. The dog was still shaking, but more from fright than cold. Sam had cleaned and bandaged the dog’s wounds before setting him in a makeshift doggie bed out of his duffel and old clothes. It now laid there in the bed, content, but never taking its eyes off of Sam while he folded up his clean clothes and shoved them into another bag.  
Dean exited the shower, towel drying his hair, prompting Sam to look up from his work. “We need dog food,” he said.

“Tomorrow, Sam. It’s too late tonight, and I’m too tired to drive anymore.” retorted Dean sharply, flopping onto his bed.

“Tomorrow, then,” repeated Sam. He glanced at the clock, noticing that it was almost 4 in the morning. He finished folding his clothes and headed towards the shower.  
The next morning they packed up their stuff and headed out towards the Impala, loading up their bags and weapons first. Afterwards they returned to the hotel room to try and coax the dog out. The dog had crawled under Sam’s bed sometime during the night and they couldn’t get it to come out. The bed had been screwed to the floor, so they couldn’t lift it.

“Come on, buddy,” Sam coaxed, holding out his hand and making kissing noises.

“Yeah, come on out you old fleebag. I’m hungry and I wanna get out of here,” Dean added. Sam shot him a look, to which Dean backed off on. He scratched his chin in thought. “Hang on, I’ve got an idea.” He exited the room, only to return a minute later with a chocolate chip cookie in his hand. It was still warm having been freshly baked, and the sweet aroma filled the room. Sam cocked his head in confusion.

“Dean, dogs can’t have chocolate,” he tried to reason.

“Ah, what’s a tiny bit gonna do to him.” Dean brushed off the comment and then kneeled down, waving the cookie in front of the dog’s face. “Here, bud! Breakfast!” he called. Slowly, the dog crawled forward, following Dean’s cookie. Once he was close enough, Dean grabbed the scruff of its neck and hauled it out from under the bed. The dog yelped in protest.

“Dean, stop, you’re hurting it!” Sam cried, taking the dog from Dean’s grasp and cradling it.

“Oh, hush, it’s fine. Now let’s go!” Dean let the dog take the cookie and then opened the door for Sam. The three of them piled into the Impala and then headed towards the Bunker.

Weeks passed, and the dog, now named Bogey, recovered from its wounds. It was only allowed in the downstairs of the Bunker, as Dean claimed that, “It stinks too much, and I don’t want dog smell anywhere it doesn’t need to be.” Sam, however, took pity, and allowed the dog inside his room at night whenever Dean was out at a bar or whatnot. It would lay at the foot of his bed quietly while Sam either read or cleaned his guns.  
The dog had grown very fond of Sam, and would follow him around everywhere, whether Sam had called for him or not. Sam even took him outside to play fetch, to which Dean laughed at, while Sam argued that, “It’s good for it to get exercise, it can’t just be laying around all day.” Truthfully, Dean had come to tolerate the dog’s presence in the bunker, and maybe even liking it enough to feed it it when Sam was out.

The dog also turned out to be a fairly good guard dog, barking whenever it sensed that people were near the bunker or when the lights started flickering. It growled and almost bit Charlie the first time she went to give Sam a hug, thinking she was trying to harm him. Sam had to show it several times that Charlie was not a threat. After that, it followed Charlie around and even begged for her food at the table.

“It must have been trained,” Sam mentioned one day in the library to Dean. The two of them were looking up old information on a house that a spirit had recently been haunting. As per usual, Bogey was stretched out at Sam’s feet.

“Huh?” Dean looked up from his papers, confused.

“Bogey. The way he always barks and growls at strangers and tries to go for them when they get too close. Normal dogs don’t do that.” Sam reached down and scratched the Golden’s ear. Dean considered this for a moment, and then shrugged.

“Got it,” Sam exclaimed suddenly. “409 Springfield Rd. That’s where it’s at.” Sam stood up and slapped his leg twice, prompting the dog to jump up and follow him. A few minutes later, everyone was in the Impala and off towards the house where the spirit was. Apparently, there was an old teddy bear that kept the Spirit tied.

“Remind me again why dog breath is coming along again?” Dean asked, shoving the dog’s face away from his. Sam reached around to pet the dog.

“Because we need to get it a collar, and since this job should be quick, I thought we could stop at a pet store and get one while we’re out,” replied Sam. Dean shrugged.

“Whatever you want, Sammy,” he said. They soon arrived at the house. Sam had spoken with the family that lived there through the phone and had gotten them to take leave the house for a day for an outing. They climbed out of the Impala, including the dog. “Oh, no, Sam, the dog has to stay.” Dean said, trying to usher the dog back into the car.

“It has to go to the bathroom, give it a minute,” Sam argued. The two of them were then hushed by the sound of shattering glass. They froze, peering inside the windows, trying to make out anything moving. Sam glanced at Dean, looking for him to initiate a plan. Dean grabbed two shotguns from the Impala. He tossed one to Sam and strode towards the house, only to find the front door locked. Muttering to himself, he stooped down to try and pick the lock. Suddenly, the door swung open on its own. He shot a glance at Sam, who only shook his head in confusion. Taking the safety off of his gun, he carefully stepped inside the house, leveling his gun anywhere he dared to look. Sam quickly followed suite. After checking to make sure there were no spirits nearby for the moment, he motioned to Sam to check the upstairs.  
Sam quickly scurried upstairs, checking each of the bedrooms, but finding no teddy bear. Peering out into the hallway, he noticed a door that he had missed earlier. He opened it quickly, leveling his gun and making sure the spirit wasn’t there before stepping inside. “Aha,” he cried with satisfaction, spotting the teddy on the pillow on the bed. He reached for it.

“SAMMY!”

Sam whipped around, crying, “Dean!” Clutching the teddy, he raced out of the room and downstairs. Vaguely, he heard two gunshots before arriving downstairs to face a heaving Dean.

“You got the bear?” Dean asked. Sam held up the teddy.

“Alright, lets…” Dean trailed off, focusing on something behind Sam. Sam turned around, only to find the spirit facing him. It was a teenage girl, no more than 16, dressed in a ragged nightgown. She clutched a bloody knife in her hand. “Sammy!” Dean cried out. Sam shoved the teddy to Dean and leveled his gun, intending to distract her while Dean took care of the teddy. Screeching out in bloody murder, the spirit came for him. Sam fired at her, but missed. Seeing he was out of bullets, he turned tail and ran. He raced around the corner, only to be confronted by the spirit. She grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall. Raising her bloody knife, she prepared to stab him with it. All of the sudden, she started glowing orange. Shrieking, she stepped away from Sam and started burning. After a few seconds, the flames were gone, as well as the spirit. Dean had done his job.

Sam looked around, looking for his brother. “Dean?” he called out cautiously.

“Over here, Sam,” his brother replied. Sam headed towards the sound of Dean’s voice, but stopped suddenly. In the middle of the floor in a pool of blood lay Bogey. Dean was kneeling down besides the dog. “I couldn’t, she came at me with the knife and it stood in the way, and she stabbed it. Sam I’m so sorry.”

“We forgot to put it back in the car…” Sam trailed off, looking sorrowfully at his fallen friend. He knelt down and felt for a pulse. None. He was gone. Sam swallowed his tears. “We gotta, we gotta take it back,” he insisted. Dean nodded.

“Alright.” They found some old towels and wrapped up the dog’s body with them. On the way back to the bunker, they stopped at the pet store to get a collar and a tag with the name “Bogey” engraved on it.

Sam buried the dog just outside of the bunker, where they used to play fetch. He laid down the collar on top of the grave, and placed a stone on top of it to keep it from moving. He stepped back to check out his work. Satisfied, he sat down to say one last goodbye to his friend.

“I’m gonna miss you, bud,” he said, looking sadly at the little grave. He chuckled. “Well at least Dean can stop complaining about the dog smell.” He felt a nudge on his left shoulder. Dean was standing above him, two beers in hand. Smiling gratefully, he took his beer and opened it. Dean sat down next to him, opening his beer and taking a swig. They sat in silence for a while, processing what had happened. Dean cleared his throat.

“It was a good dog.” Sam stared at Dean in disbelief. Dean would never say that. Dean noticed and started fidgeting nervously with is beer. “I mean, I still hate dogs and all, but this one was the exception. Not by much though. Just okay. That’s all.” Dean stood up and walked back towards the bunker, kicking dirt as he went. Sam watched him go, a hint of a smile on his face.

“The only exception, eh?” He chuckled again, and then stood up to follow Dean back inside. He stopped, and the turned to the grave one last time. “I’ll see you around,” he said. With that, he turned around and finally left to return to the Bunker.


End file.
